


How it Happened

by littlewitch34



Category: The Avengers (2012), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - All Fandoms, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Awesome Phil Coulson, Clint Barton Feels, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Deaf Clint Barton, M/M, Minor Violence, Pre-Avengers (2012), Protective Phil Coulson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-23
Updated: 2012-09-23
Packaged: 2017-11-14 21:23:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/519652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlewitch34/pseuds/littlewitch34
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How they go from Agent Coulson and Barton to Phil and Clint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How it Happened

The first time that Agent Coulson met the man who would become Agent Barton, it wasn't in an exciting location. It wasn't at the circus that Barton came from. It wasn't watching him shoot an arrow, watching him get the applause. It wasn't at the circus. Coulson knew it would've been a harder sell if it was at the circus, if they'd met like that. For Barton's sake, he'd wished that it was a hard sell at the circus.

No, instead, it was at a miserable, dirty motel room where he first met Barton. The motel had a failing grade with the health inspector. The thought of sleeping in a place like that made Coulson shudder inwardly. He cringed as he slipped up the stairs to the outdoor-entry rooms on the second floor, light on his feet. His gun was drawn and ready. Coulson didn't know too much about the man that he'd been sent to locate; he knew only that Barton was at least partly deaf. As he prepped to go into the motel room, Coulson wasn't sure how Barton was going to react to someone kicking in the door, but he made a guess and figured it would not be positive, hence the gun.

He counted down the doors to make sure that he had the right room, though he knew that he had the right room. He'd had his eye on it for hours, had seen people go in and out of the room, and saw someone carry Barton into the room. Barton hadn't come out, though, which led Coulson to figure that it wouldn't be the simple rescue mission that it had originally promised.

Coulson crept up the stairs and, as far as he knew, Barton was the only person in the room, so he readied himself. He picked the lock on the door with a piece of SHIELD tech that was too techy for Coulson to wrap his head around. He slowly swung the door open. The smell was the first thing that hit him; the room reeked of stale air and blood.

Coulson's eyes adjusted to the dim light, and darted around. He quickly spotted a figure, huddled in a heap on the floor, wrists bound with thick, black tape. Coulson's eyes narrowed, and he approached the lump on the floor. He used the light from his cell phone to illuminate the room.

As the light shined in the field of view of the huddled figure, the man's head peeked up just enough, and Coulson made a positive ID. He knew that the man before him was definitely Barton. Barton's face was bruised and bloodied, a total mess. The pure fear, shoddily disguised, stuck out most to Coulson. Coulson didn't know exactly what had been done to Barton, but he knew it put that fear into Barton's eyes, and that was more than enough for Coulson to feel for Barton. Coulson held his phone up so that his face was lit up.

“Barton,” Coulson said, though he knew that Barton might not be able to hear him fully. “I'm Agent Coulson. You're safe now.” He was surprised when he heard Barton snort. He was unsurprised, though, when he noted Barton's flinch, when he pulled out a knife from his pocket.

“Easy,” Coulson soothed. “Just need to get that tape off you.” He took advantage of how stock-still Barton was, and Coulson made quick work of disposing of the tape. “Can you stand?” Coulson made sure to enunciate clearly, and looked Barton right in the face to make sure that Barton could read his lips. He'd already figured out that Barton was a lip-reader. Barton nodded, and they stood.

Coulson said, “Follow me. Keep on my six.” After Barton nodded once, he followed Coulson out of the room, looking around wildly as they left, as if to make sure they weren't being followed.

When they reached the four-door that Coulson was using as his unmarked vehicle, Coulson saw the hesitation and anxiety, practically pouring off Barton in waves.

“Let's get you out of here, and then you can bolt if you want to. I'm not holding you captive. You can run if you want,” Coulson offered. After a moment's contemplation, Coulson saw Barton nod, and they got into the car.

The car ride was silent until they arrived at the much nicer, cleaner hotel that Coulson had a room in. Barton's eyes narrowed, and Coulson read sheer horror in them. Coulson shook his head quickly, and shifted so he was sure that Barton saw his face to lipread.

“I expect nothing. This isn't some kind of trick. I'm an agent from SHIELD. SHIELD was hoping for information from you. They sent me to find you,” Coulson said.

“Don't know anything,” Barton replied quietly.

“Either way, you're out of that nasty place.” Coulson studied Barton, trying to get a better read on him.

Barton's heart pounded at the mention of the motel, and against his better judgment, Barton nodded.

“Let me at least clean your injuries up before you take off on me.” Coulson gestured to the still-closed hotel room door.

Barton remained quiet for a moment, and then finally mumbled, “Gimme that knife and you have a deal.” To his surprise, Coulson held up the knife. Barton took it and he walked into the hotel room.

Coulson gestured to a chair in the corner and picked up the ice bucket. He filled it with warm water and got a washcloth from the bathroom. He tenderly cleaned off Barton's cheeks. He went still when he saw Barton's wrists, reddened and raw. It had been far too dark in the motel room and the car to see how badly Barton's wrists were injured. He took Barton's left hand in his hand, and gingerly cleaned it as best as he could.

“Do you usually wear hearing aids?” Coulson asked.

Barton tensed. He didn't think it was that obvious that he was partially-deaf. “Broke. They stepped on 'em. Thought it was fun to watch me squirm when I couldn't hear anything.” Barton's voice was flat as he recalled unpleasant memories.

“How did you wind up in that room?”

“Thought I stole from them.” Barton's voice was soft. He quickly added, because he didn't want Coulson thinking that he stole, “I didn't, though.”

“Good thing you were wanted by SHIELD,” Coulson replied.

Barton was thankful for it. He already liked this Agent Coulson. Coulson had a kind face and a genuine way about him. Coulson's touch hadn't put Barton into an immediate, full-body shiver.

Once Barton's injuries were clean, Coulson passed him a business card.

“Phil Coulson,” Barton read aloud.

“I answer to Phil or Coulson,” Coulson explained.

After a beat, Barton said, “Clint. You can call me Clint.”

“Alright, Clint.” Coulson felt like he'd made some kind of victory.

“Alright, Phil,” Clint replied, the tiniest of smiles on his lips.

***  
It took a half-hour of convincing, but Phil got Clint into the shower. He gave Clint a set of SHIELD-issued gym shorts and a grey t-shirt to put on after the shower. While Clint showered, Phil ordered a set of hearing aids for Clint, with a promise that the hearing aids would be rushed. There was no reason, in Phil's opinion, for Clint to go any longer without the level of hearing he'd been used to.

Phil ordered pizza and let Clint have a whole pepperoni pizza to himself. He wondered when the last time the kid ate was, and then silently berated himself for calling Clint a kid. He could tell that Clint wasn't that much younger than him, but Clint had something that struck Phil and put Phil into a protective mindset over his new charge.

The hearing aids came before Clint and Phil even attempted sleep. As soon as the hearing aids were tested, and confirmed to be working, Coulson turned to Clint.

“There's a place for you in SHIELD. I'm not asking for an answer this minute. Just know that there's a place for you. Money. A job. An apartment. Protection. It's a dangerous job; it's not the best life. But it's something, Clint.”

Clint appeared surprised by the offer. Phil smiled at him.

“I know what you're capable of. I know you're an impressive archer. We'd love to have you,” Phil said. “Think on it. Take your time.”

The last job that Clint held wasn't well-paid, and it wasn't secure. Neither was SHIELD, but SHIELD offered Phil Coulson. Clint noticed how soft Phil's touch was when he cleaned Clint's injuries. Clint noticed how truly good Phil was, not only in how he treated Clint, but how he treated other people in front of Clint. Phil didn't demand an answer from Clint (nor anything else, not even the last slice of his pizza, which he gave to Clint). It all put Clint at ease. He started to strongly consider that offer.

***  
A week later, and Clint still had nightmares, whenever he slept. He stayed on in Phil's apartment, in the SHIELD headquarters, in Phil's guest bedroom. He would never wake Phil when he had his horrible dreams; at least, he thought he didn't wake Phil. Phil didn't come barging through the door to throttle him for making noise, so Clint figured the walls were soundproof enough to keep his nightmares muffled.

Phil spent half his nights seated on the floor outside the guest bedroom door, listening to Clint as he had what weren't just bad dreams, but sounded like full-blown PTSD episodes. Phil knew that SHIELD protocol was to get Clint a SHIELD-issued therapist, but he knew already that Clint wouldn't be receptive to the idea.

The worst it got was when he heard Clint begging his assailants to not chop off his fingers. Clint's heaving sobs were enough for Phil to kick in the locked door of the bedroom. He rushed to shake Clint awake, and Clint pulled back, half-dry heaving and half-screaming.

“God, please, not my fingers. Please, please, please, you can do anything, but not my fingers. Please, God, don't--” Clint went silent when he felt Phil gather him close, almost like he expected Phil to simply snap him in two, splintering bone and spattering blood over the room.

“Shh,” Phil soothed softly. He kept one arm wrapped tight around Clint. With the other, he took Clint's hand, and brought Clint's hand up to his throat. He pressed Clint's fingers in lightly there, so Clint could feel his throat vibrating as he spoke.

“Shh, Clint,” Phil said. “You're ok. No one is going to hurt you now. You're safe.”

Clint slowly came back to the real world when he felt something tickle against his fingertips. He could barely hear a muffled voice speak. He couldn't really hear what was being said, but he could feel a thumb as his brushed back and forth over his back, and he very slowly started to allow himself to breathe again.

“That's right.” Phil spoke to Clint in a volume loud enough for Clint to hear him, but with a gentle tone, almost like speaking to a wounded animal. “Just breathe. Deep breaths, in and out, and you'll calm down. Breathe for me.”

When Clint couldn't hold himself up anymore, still shaky and weak, he slumped over against Phil's shoulder. He hid his face there. It felt safe; Clint felt safe.

“Good,” Phil said. He reached over to the bedside table. He picked up one of Clint's hearing aids, and carefully eased it into Clint's ear. “Lie there for a little while, Clint.” Phil felt relieved when he felt Clint's head jerk up and down once in a nod, and then felt Clint sink against him, almost boneless.

They sat together, silent. Phil's hand remained on Clint's back, his fingers splayed out to cover as much of Clint as he could. His other hand stroked over Clint's hair. Clint still had a hand up, fingers against Phil's throat, despite having a hearing aid in. Clint's nose just barely brushed against Phil's neck. Phil's head lightly rested against Clint's. The position wasn't uncomfortable for either, so they wound up holding it all night.

***  
Clint never left for his own room. He remained with Phil, who became his rock and anchor, his constant, who kept the nightmares at bay better than anything or anyone else in the world. With Phil, Clint slept soundly. Phil became Clint's handler both in the field and at home. Clint was shocked the day it dawned on him that Phil knew him better than anyone else ever had.


End file.
